


My Pet Barclay

by Gulo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Fingering, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Second Person, Skantspotting, male chastity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gulo/pseuds/Gulo
Summary: Barclay is a Good Boy, he just needs the right Mistress to tell him so. Explicit Barclay x fem Reader.
Relationships: Barclay x Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	My Pet Barclay

You're reading from your PADD when your beloved Reginald Barclay stumbles in through the door of your shared quarters. From over the PADD you watch your poor tired pet engineer cross the room and collapse onto one of the sofas. In his exhaustion he sprawls across the cushions somewhat, but since he's wearing the skant you asked him to put on this morning, he keeps his boots closer together. An unbidden manspreading would not do in front of Mistress, even in the privacy of your own rooms.

As you turn the page on your PADD you can hear him quietly moaning and mumbling. It would be something akin to the usual technobabble, except it's really just babble. "Was it a long day for you, my love? Welcome home."

"Oh, it was such a bad day," Reg moans aloud piteously, one hand rising to rub his red eyes. "Such a bad, bad day. Ohhhhhh. It took _so looong_ to correct those calibrations. And I took the heat for it from Geordi, when it was Ensign Daren I'd delegated it all to. And _then,_" he huffed, "Nora noticed me."

Without looking up, you reply, "Lieutenant Brook? Noticed you, you say? Well, mission accomplished."

"The skant, yes." Grumbling, Reg pitches forward in his seat and his face falls into his hands. Somehow between squished cheeks he manages to blurt out, " 'Nice skant,' she says to me, 'oh this old thing?' I can't believe that's the best I had. Then I went to lean on a panel and I missed it and I fell, I fell over, right in front of her. And then... rggh," Barclay lifts his head slightly up and makes two claws, "we had to fix something in the tube together and she got an even better look up there. Not that she was trying, I'm _sure._ But no wonder they discontinued these things," he exasperatedly gestures to the skirt over his thighs, "they're just not _practical_."

Finally putting your PADD to sleep and aside, you release a sigh. But before you can speak, Barclay interjects, "I-I-I'm sorry, Mistress. Not that I'm questioning your request. It's just--" 

"I understand, Mr. Barclay. Don't trouble yourself about it too much. I do want to thank you for honoring my request today. It was very gracious of you to humor me so, despite causing you some discomfort. Come closer, why don't you join me here?" You scoot into the corner of the sofa and pat the other cushion. 

"Oh, Mistress," Reg whines, and virtually crawls over to your side. He slinks up onto the cushion and slumps against your shoulder, tiny and fragile. You've never known a gentler soul.

You wrap both arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a squeeze, speaking in your most confident, calm and soothing voice. "There there, my darling. You may not feel like it, but you did very well today. You _are_ a good boy. You ought to know that. You do good work for this ship. We appreciate you. Even if the Commander is a tough nut sometimes," you see him simper, and offer another squeeze. "Besides, handsome, you got some good attention today, right? That must have been at least a little nice. Hmm. I wonder what Mr. Brook thought of your choice of underwear.”

Barclay hides his face in your chest. It's just what happens to be close by, but he obviously takes some solace there. You smirk and stroke the wispier hairs on top of his scalp until he muffles, "Do I please you, Mistress?" and rolls his liquid brown eyes up to listen for the answer. 

"You do please me, my pet." Barclay visibly brightens, the light in his eyes is back, his spine arches as he wiggles slightly with excitement. The praise is not something you are ever stingy with unless Barclay has made a real mistake, these cases being far and few in between. But the praise never wears off on him, the validation is fresh every time, each time renewing his spirits and giving him life and hope. He sips on your praise like refreshing beverage after hard, hard work. When you caress down the skant's flank, his hip slides against your hand. 

"_May I_ please you, Mistress?" he whispers, holding your gaze in a short but heavy pause, where you smile, then nod, and pull aside your robe. Your good pet brushes a wet kiss on your lips, moaning there, before he softly and worshipfully moans down your chest, tenderly nuzzling each breast, mouthing over your stomach, until he's kneeling on all fours and has his face buried between your thighs. He chills out there for a moment, breathing deep, letting his head clear. Eventually, he has the presence of mind to lift hands and pull your fur apart, kisses and laps daintily at the hidden flesh. He's so well practiced at this by now, you hardly need to give him directions; he knows how long it takes you to warm up, what kind of overtures and teasing you enjoy, the sort of intensity and buildup that will get the best reactions, the kind of pressure that will excite and entice. He'll do anything, he has the endurance to do anything, to watch and feel the reward of your thrusting hips into his face, and later, down onto his fingers, until he's nearly breathless with the force of it. One time Reg shyly yet passionately disclosed to you, "I want to bathe in your juices," and at first you laughed, but then you saw how true it was, and how he greedily drank up your generous love like sweet ambrosia. 

When you're finally spent and collapsed, panting, Barclay remains where he is, just as always. He always stays down for a little while to make sure you're satisfied, and because it feels good to him to be lower than you, and to be worshipping at your sex. Lazily, and in silence, you stroke back his soft, silken hair, and he sometimes nuzzles your hand, and kisses fingertips. 

Recovered, you sit up and pat the sofa again. "Come up."

"Yes." Like a responsive dog, he hops up beside you again, bright-eyed.

You reach to caress Reg's knee, letting fingertips edge under the hem of the skant. "If this is uncomfortable, I believe it's time to come off." 

"I-if you w-wish," Reg nods, stands, and smiles bashfully as you lift the skant up and over his head. He's just wearing the boots now, and a pair of satin pink panties, cut so that they just barely cover his bits but clearly show the outline of the cage containing them. It doesn't matter that you've been training this little man for a few weeks now, Reg is blushing furiously, but he is visibly happy to be obeying your every wish. As you drop the skant on the floor, you let your hands run over his perfectly average, yet somehow pleasant and comfortably appealing body. The satin-covered bum arches into your palms when you cup it, and he has to swallow a nervous chuckle. Reg loves it when you manhandle him; although your hands go straight to his backside, squeezing and kneading there a moment, they wander his thighs, his ribs, his deceptively strong back and belly, partly caressing, partly pulling, pinching, kneading, patting, as if he were a fine animal whose traits you were surveying and testing. It makes you a little hot to think about giving him pain; you know he'd like it too; but that will come a little later, when you know each other just a little more. The unspoken promise crackles between you like electricity. 

"Did you find _this_ uncomfortable, today?" you mutter close to his stubbled chin, whilst cupping under his pantied balls, fingertips feeling the outline of hard metal under the satin. 

"_Ooohh..._" Reg breathes hard, shuddering. "N-No, Mistress. H-hah. I find wearing the cage v-very enjoyable."

"Oh yes? I'm glad you agree, that's sexy. It's comfortable for you, then?" You're still fondling the pantied cage for a moment, before you decide to pull the panties down and hook them under his balls to exhibit him prettily. 

Reg's face is very red, but he has a hint of a smile as he answers. "It is very comfortable, yes, Mistress. I will wear it as much as you like."

"Tell me true," you tease your fingertips over the cage, the metal cool to the touch, "have you thought about fucking Lieutenant Brook?"

The smile fades, the red intensifies, and Reg visibly winces. He doesn't want to answer. You wait patiently as he struggles to find the words. He knows he has to answer because you've given him a direct question, he can't just refuse. He seems to be in pain from his honesty. "I-I-I... I-I... ah... I ... I would... t-taste her, i-if she asked me," he finally stammers, again wincing, hastening to add, "but I wouldn't fuck her, Mistress."

It would be so easy to laugh out loud, but you constrain it to a little chuckle. "I'm not asking if you would or wouldn't. I'm asking if you thought about it." You fingers just tickle under his bare sac. 

Grimacing with his eyes shut, his breath shallow and quick, Reg nods. "I've thought about it." 

"Hmm, I appreciate your honesty," you purr, kissing his cheek and neck. "Because, of course you did. I know you did. You horny boy." 

Reg whimpers in his extreme vulnerability. He wants to turn into the kiss desperately, but knows it must be given to him. So he holds barely still, but squirms under your scrutiny and quiet power. "So _horny_," you whisper next to his ear, "horny all the time, horny every day, if only you could just get some attention, hmmm?"

"I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, M-Mistress. You're the only attention I really need. I promise, I won't betray you."

Now you laugh. Less gently, you tug on Barclay's caged dick and sac. "You silly boy. You know I trust you, even if you weren't wearing this. But it does help, eh?"

Still reeling and breathing hard from it, Reg watches as you turn to the endtable next to the sofa and find a bottle of lube you had hidden around the vase of a potted plant. He quickly takes the opportunity to step out of his boots and nudge them aside. He's watching you with fascination, still red all over and dark eyes wide, as you squeeze lube on your fingertips and rub them together. A finger hooked and dragged downward allows the pink satin panties to fall around his ankles, and you apply a slippery caress around the caged bits to coat them. "Mistress," Reg sighs heavily, knowing soon he'll be free, and able to find release. 

This makes you smile. His visible relief is already beautiful. You kiss him wet and soft as you work, until he's slippery enough, you've found the key around your wrist, unlocked the two parts, slipped them off his penis and nearly too-tight balls, and let them rest on the skant with an alluring clang. Naked as a jay, Barclay's penis is already responding. Now that it can finally engorge with blood his cock fills up and out and bobs in the air in a rather inviting gesture. You tease him by ignoring it for a moment, letting your nails drag over his heaving tummy. It doesn't take long to be drooling precum, pearls of it dripping lewdly with every needing throb. Your fingertips are excruciatingly gentle as you take him again in hand, and Barclay's nervous breath catches as he shivers. 

"Ask me if I like it," you tell him.

He swallows hard, turns to you and catches your gaze. Reg looks absolutely vulnerable, and so weightless you could pick him up by the dick and haul him over a shoulder. But he finds the strength to ground himself and whispers, "M-Mistress. Do you ... like my penis?"

"I love your penis," you whisper back, still so close you're sharing breath. Barclay moans loudly and cannot stop, he's already shuddering in your hand; he makes an absolute mess of it, his cum drenches your fingers, spurts across your wrist, spills wantonly on the skant on the floor as he whimpers pitifully, and you grin because you can't believe you're milking so much from him already. You grin because his whining sounds both so full of love, and so very very helpless. 

Reg pants heavily, sweat beads on his shiny forehead. Despite your hand dripping with semen, he's still diamond-hard. "You got some cum for me?" you continue to whisper by his ear. Your hand leaves his cock to tug somewhat forcefully at the base of his sac. 

He's swaying on his feet, but you haven't asked him to sit, so he resolves to stand as best he can. Reg has to spread his feet apart to give himself balance. "For you... I have... more for you," he pants. 

"I bet you thought about sex all day..." You knead his tight, swollen nuts. "Do you think maybe that's what was distracting you at work? Poor, pent-up Mr. Barclay. Just needs to empty out those heavy, laden balls... hmm..." Barclay's knees are turning to jelly. You don't bother to suppress a grin. When you direct him to have a seat on the sofa, he gratefully turns to sit on the edge so he is still at your attention, his spine straight with the pride of obedience. 

You definitely catch him watching you, eyeing your nearly naked body as you switch positions, and you take a moment to play it up. The gauzy robe curtains your curves, sometimes shrouding, sometimes revealing. When you approach him he once more moans against your belly, seems to seek the patch of fragrant fuzz, but you deny him this. Instead, you push aside the skant so it's under him, move down to your own knees, holding his eyes the while. Although you are lower than him now, you still give an air of authority, and he one of deference. His feet and hands fidget, he holds the edge of the sofa with the unsureness of a boy. His little cock smells good; you can easily take its musky, salty shape into your mouth to suck. Reg tenses all up, already you can feel rigid stiffness of his shaft, and he calls your name desperately, sweetly. Slowly and carefully you ease off and prolong the moment by returning to his sac. He keeps himself nicely manscaped and shaven just for you, and to look good and not get caught whilst caged. Velvety taught skin gives way to crimped folds of tight flesh. His scent is heady and pleasant. You love the way his thighs quiver under your hands. You get suddenly impatient again and surprise him by going down, bobbing a few times, when he bursts on your tongue and down your throat with salty goodness. During most of this time, Reg holds himself rigid and still except for barely-contained orgasmic squirming; at the end of it, he cannot stop his hand from touching your hair. 

You take his wrist and tut sternly. "You're not to touch me first." He looks chagrinned and ducks his head, guilty. It's such a silly part of this game, but it amuses you, and it helps reinforce the rule that what you say, goes. Releasing his wrist, you point at the sofa. "Turn around, boy. Kneel in front of the couch with your butt up in the air."

"Yes." A bit confused and not a little embarrassed, Reg slowly turns to comply. He has absolutely no idea what you have in mind for him, knows only that he should do whatever you ask. He does this, then looks over his shoulder at you curiously, only to jump when you give his backside a spank! "A-Ah!" he squeaks in a voice as high-pitched you've ever heard from him, a bit undignified. This is so entertaining that you decide to spank the other cheek, and he shouts again and whines. He sounds pretty pathetic; you like that he's playing it up, too. 

"You look so cute like this." You grope and tug on his butt. It feels solid. You like the feel of those solid hips and butt when he's between your legs, very much; you also like how good they are to box around like this. You spank him another few times, rapid and superficial at first, then harder and more thudding, and the barking blends together into one big long howling whine. You can't see his face too well, but his back is certainly flushed all over with excitement and embarrassment, matching his reddening asscheeks. 

It's time to pull these pink cheeks apart so you can get a look at his privates. He does a good job of shaving and got every last hair. You think the bare seam running down his perineum and balls is sexy, especially since it's still tight with arousal. It's cute watching his asshole wink, too. "Do you trust me, Reginald?"

He shivers for a moment while the words sink in. He turns slightly to say, "Of course. Yes, Mistress. I trust you."

"I'm going to play with your ass."

You hear him grunt and swallow hard, from excitement or just humiliation, you're not sure. But when you bury your tongue in his crack, he makes a very pleasant sound indeed. It's a big surprised cry, followed by rapid coughing gasps, and then what sounds almost like mock-sobbing. Barclay can think of no better way to express his pleasure than by _sobbing_ as your tongue laps and licks, lashes and lathers. When you've got his nerve endings tingling such that his hole actually feels more erect with engorgement, you begin to gently work a finger in him instead. "Just relax, lover. Just push down a bit," you remind him as his ragged breathing finally begins to even out into deeper, fuller breaths of concentration. When he lifts his head you can see he's in a serious trance; you take a moment to grab the bottle and re-lube your fingers, and when your probing finger is fully in him, your other hand finds his hard-yet-again cock. This is good fun, having Reg impaled on your hand, milking him sweetly, watching his body writhe over the sofa, knowing he's as relaxed as he could be in this position. This being his third orgasm, you thus take your time in your stroking, squeezing, and tugging; you kiss his bumcheeks, listen closely to the lilt and singsong in his passionate moans, your curling, poking, stroking finger eliciting new sounds at every turn. "What a good boy you are. Waiting for me to bring you off. Waiting for me to get in the mood to play with you. Keeping your cum loads saved up just for me. Such a good boy." 

"OhgodMistress! I'm yours! You can have me! You can have as m-much as you want!"

You edge him until he's trembling and grasping the sofa cushion hard in both vein-popping hands, and when he cums you milk and drain him for all he's worth, his body writhing beautifully as he calls your name over and over again and finally ends with a long moan that trails weakly off. The skant has been completely drenched (and shown who's boss).

"Turn around again for me, my dear." Reg complies, hauling his thoroughly spent body around to lean against the sofa, still on the floor. You tangle limbs with him for a moment of glowing warmth, letting him catch his breath and then sharing a kiss. 

In between kisses you see him smile at you and it's like orchestral music swells in your head. 

Your careful hand explores down his naked front once more, cups his soft cock protectively a moment. A final time you find the lube and prepare his bits, so the two halves of the cage can slip on once again, and be locked safely together with a satisfying click. 

When he emerges from the sonic you show him your PADD. "What do you think of these space pajamas? Too revealing? They're awful cute, though." 

"Uhhhhhh... I-I-I'll just stick to the standard issue uniform if you don't mind, Mistress. I think everyone in the department will th-thank me for it."

"Yes, you're right, sweetheart. This will just have to stay our secret." Your hand on his butt draws his caged crotch to yours, and you kiss.

~<3~


End file.
